


Flawed, and Fragmented

by suhoneymod



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Hanahaki Disease, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 16:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10880202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suhoneymod/pseuds/suhoneymod
Summary: His memories show that sometimes the most perfect things were equally flawed; fragmented.





	Flawed, and Fragmented

**Author's Note:**

> Dear prompter, I hope this does some justice to what you prompted, and that you enjoy it! The love in this fic is based on something called Hanahaki Disease. I won’t go too much in detail about it, as it would give too much away! Thank you to the mysterious M, for your constant support! And to the mods, a big thank you for your patience, and your efforts! And for running this fest!
> 
> (prompt #119)
> 
> by [alexa31](http://alexa31.livejournal.com/)

(I) They live in a complex world, Joonmyun thinks. Or maybe it’s simple. Or maybe it seems so simple because it’s been this way for so long. Joonmyun can never tell for certain what the world is.

And it vexes him so.

 

 

(I) Time stands still for no man.

_That would matter if I_ were _a man._

 

 

[Beginning.]

 

 

(I) Flawed. That's what they said. All their attempts so far have been flawed and disappointing. So for him to be anything else would have been fantastical.

 

 

(I) Flawed creations were to be destroyed. As was he.

At least there would be no more of this darkness.

 

 

(I) He blinked, light shining in his eyes. He's still here. He frowned. Why?

 

 

(I) _Welcome to the future_ , they told him, as if that meant the same thing that it meant to them. It did not. He’s been nowhere else.

 

 

[Between.]

 

 

(I) It feels like it all happened yesterday, but Joonmyun’s lived the length of full human lives since then.

 

 

(I) Being damaged, in a sense, led to him working in a place where damaged people came and went. He wasn't lonely, and he was often times mistaken as sad, but he found comfort here, in this place for damaged people.

 

 

(I) A new human came in today, Joonmyun noted, making his rounds. Connected to several monitors, he was still... laughing. This made Joonmyun pause, before he moved on. Maybe it was for the sake of those surrounding him, or maybe he already accepted what was going to happen.

That would be easier... in the end.

Joonmyun found himself feeling a little awed. This too fragile human was strong.

 

 

(I) This human is damaged, his file says. It seemed to be his lungs, and his blood... and everything all at once.

He wouldn't be here much longer.

 

 

(I) Joonmyun exhaled softly, making his way through his duties.

Someone died today. Sometimes it feels like there was no space between deaths.

Joonmyun tugged at the hair hanging on his eyes. He knew this patient; had treated him once for a broken arm when he was just a child, too excited and just too much of a boy to sit still.

He came in a week ago, and today, along with his family, Joonmyun had watched him die. Nothing could be done. His was an unrequited one.

 

Love was much too cruel, and untameable. No one had a say at all.

 

 

(I) Time changes. People change. Everything changes. But not him.

He lives an eternity standing still. And most days, that was alright.

 

 

(I) Another death today; a student, 22.

The atmosphere was sober today, a little more than usual, and Joonmyun remembers a time when the causes of these kinds of deaths were nonexistent. But it’s not uncommon these days, to die at such young an age.

It’s been decades, since the last car accident, the last aeroplane crash, the last sinking ship. Times have changed, and things have been upgraded in such ways that it would have to be intentional for an accident to happen at all.

So many ways have been achieved to save lives, but it wasn’t enough. People still died too often.

 

No one could stop love.

 

And it makes a tragedy all the more tragic, Joonmyun thinks, to have something that is meant to be good, be so destructive.

 

 

(I) By the current world's standards of perfection, it was still too far from it. Enough was simply not enough.

Joonmyun watched a child run around in the lobby, a neon balloon held by a string in his little hand.

Control over death; this was what they wanted; who lived, who died, and when and how it happened. They've achieved much in the medical field, in accidents and violence and murder. 

 

Joonmyun knew it was more than saving lives that they wanted, when they worked and financed these divisions; it was absolute control over things that simply were never in man’s control.

And that is where this strange phenomenon came in; the only phenomenon to truly ever exist, and seeming to remind the humans just how helpless they were.

 

Love. It's always existed, but not like this.

 

It happened slowly at first, appearing as what they once referred to as a "rare, non-contagious disease."

 

But it's a little more complicated than that.

 

Love was the greatest cause of death in the world. It made no sense, especially to his logical mind. Love was the most powerful feeling in the world; it’s what made good people good, and often what made bad people bad, but sometimes it made bad people good, too. But it’s grown so tainted now—so destructive.

 

But here is where the true tragedy of it starts.

Love can be good and requited, but if it was not, it was not simply unrequited. It was not simply losing your chance at love.

 

It was death.

 

It happened slowly, tearing you apart from the inside, shutting you down bit by bit, in an almost mocking manner. The only way people could explain it to themselves was to call love a disease; a disease whose only cure was to receive the love it desired in return.

 

They call it a disease, and maybe it is. But no serum, no cure, and no treatment could be done.

 

They wanted to perfect everything; but the place they most wanted this perfection was the one place they couldn't achieve any.

 

 

(I) This new human—( _Luhan_ , he heard him being called) was a little—odd. Joonmyun frowned. He had such a pretty face, and yet it stretched into truly hideous expressions, with a jaw-dropping laugh that was somewhat worrisome.

Humans—their anatomies don’t allow such movements, Joonmyun thought, feeling morbidly curious.

 

 

(I) Did he have transplants done to repair an injured jaw, perhaps?

 

 

(I) He did not. Joonmyun checked his records, a little perturbed.

 

 

(I) Joonmyun was always thinking. Sometimes he thought about the place he lived in, sometimes he thought about the people he lived with. Sometimes he didn’t seem to think about anything in particular, but he knew he was thinking. He wondered if the more perfect—the less flawed ones could shut it off.

 

 

(I) There are many aspects in the future that the humans predicted—or imagined, wrong. There’s still love and warmth to be found. Although not everywhere—but still so. Joonmyun finds himself grateful for this faulty prediction. A cold world was not one he wanted any existence in.

_But_ , he pondered, _would I know anything different?_

 

 

(I) Joonmyun, simply, is flawed.

Being one of the first, one of the test subjects, he supposed no more could be expected.

His limbs were stiffer, his entire being stiffer, his existence easily spotted as not human. He was flawed, as was the race that created him, so he knew he could not possibly have expected anything more, anything—good. Yet it was not completely bad, either.

 

And later on, somehow, maybe with more practice, they achieved certain perfections.

 

Most imperfect beings would have been destroyed, but he was not. And most days, he was happy for it. Today was not that day.

 

 

(I) Joonmyun made his way down the hallway, patient files held almost too tightly to his chest; the metal wrinkling his scrubs.

Luhan cried today.

He had no visitors—a first in the weeks he’s been here—and Joonmyun could feel the relief mixed in with his cries. He wasn’t all that brave, after all; just a fragile human who knew that people would live with this pain long after he was gone.

 

 

(I) One day, Luhan said, “Everything is a bit wrong with me; my blood, my lungs, my bones. But the worst is my heart. And here, they can fix everything. They can fix my lungs, and my bones, and even my blood. But there’s too much wrong with my heart, they’d have to replace it completely. It’s happened before, right? Heart transplants, and replacements. People are not the same anymore, and that scares me most, even more than dying. Will there be anything of me left?”

It was the first thing he ever said to Joonmyun. It was everything Joonmyun already knew, so he didn’t quite know how to respond. But the nod he gave Luhan seemed to satisfy him.

 

 

(I) And Luhan was right.

Heart transplants.

Time has advanced, and the number of people who used to die from accidents and violence and diseases dwindled greatly, because of all the scientific achievements, but it also lead to a shortage of organ donors.

Broken hearts from the unrequited was thought to be okay to use at first, logically, from those who knew what was going to happen, and didn’t want to be here for that.

But it didn’t work—it was just as toxic to those who received it, slowly killing them from the inside.

So, scientists could only do one thing—they _created_ them.

There were many failures and many flaws, and even now—it wasn’t what a heart needed to be, beyond pumping the necessary blood and oxygen. Most government funding went to the organ research department, hoping for the day when hearts were more than just machines.

 

Because people—people were— _different_ , afterwards.

 

And it’s lead to tragic consequences.

No one wanted to live that way, and so they decided not to.

 

 

(I) There are no flying cars at all, and no sky-reaching scrapers, Joonmyun noted, a little distracted. At least, no more than usual, from Joonmyun’s research of the past he was not a part of. Humans’ imagination was much wilder than any possible reality.

 

 

(I) More visitors today, Joonmyun noted, as he walked by Luhan’s room.

He was laughing again today, his face morphed and filled with laugh lines.

Joonmyun thought that this strength made him beautiful.

 

 

(I) Androids have come much further than humans ever expected they would. That is to say, it wasn’t quite like those movies, where artificial intelligent beings took over the ever flawed race.

They lived—as everyone else did. They had lovers, they had their families, their friends, jobs. It was sometimes disappointing to the humans who created them. They weren’t extraordinary. They looked no different, either; no extreme artificial beauty, although their intellect was much greater.

And much like humans do, they felt. Indeed, these beings built from metal and bolts and electric wiring; they could feel. They could love, they could hate, they could hurt and in turn be hurt themselves.

 

And Joonmyun—Joonmyun was outdated.

He did not adapt as others did; many habits and other bits and pieces here and there too deeply ingrained to change. In a strange way, he was almost like the elderly; too old to change.

 

 

(I) “Morning, Joonmyun!”

“Morning.” Joonmyun would reply. He’d never tack on his name, oddly enough.

Luhan’s taken to greeting him whenever he saw him, smiling his somewhat human-looking smile when he did.

This wasn’t especially anything new. Over the years, Joonmyun’s had patients that grew to like him. It left him happy to receive their affections, however short they may have been.

Waving to Luhan as he continued his rounds, Joonmyun’s left hand pulled a bit stiff. Well, he is quite old; it made sense that he’d need a few check-ups and repairs every now and then.

 

 

(I) _What a strange place_ , he thought, absentmindedly, watching the clouds fade into the sunset. It occurred to him that that exact thought was even stranger. He’s been nowhere else?

“What a strange expression.” He heard someone laugh.

Luhan.

“Expression?” Joonmyun echoed.

“Yeah, you look like you’ve thought of something really weird.” Luhan laughed, leaning against the railing next to Joonmyun.

Joonmyun shook his head, “Not particularly.”

There was a bit of silence before Joonmyun asked, “Should you be out of bed?” But Joonmyun already knew. Luhan’s taken to doing things he really shouldn’t be doing in his condition, but everyone’s already accepted it. Would it matter, either way?

“It really doesn’t matter, either way.” Luhan smiled a smile barely there, leaning a little further over the railing.

“Not afraid of heights anymore?” Joonmyun asked, studying Luhan in the glow of the sunset.

“I am, but I feel a little ridiculous about it. It’s not going to be the death of me, so it feels pointless to be scared now.” Luhan paused, before he continued, “That doesn’t really make sense, does it?”

“Not really.” Joonmyun replied, and Luhan let out that jaw-wrenching laugh.

 

That’s another thing about Luhan; he seemed to genuinely enjoy Joonmyun’s company, seemed to honestly find what Joonmyun says funny.

 

 

(I) Joonmyun furrowed his brows, staring down at his feet. He just—just stopped.

It’s been happening recently.

It was never conscious, this stopping of his, and it chose to happen at the most inconvenient of places and times; in the grocery line, sometimes in the doorway. Sometimes he’d stop in the bus, and end up much further away than where he meant to be.

Most commonly he’d find himself in the middle of a sidewalk, just stopping.

Why, he’d ask, but he’d never voice anything further than that.

 

[Some days, he’d swear to himself to do something about it, because it couldn’t go on this way, because surely “—this isn’t _healthy_?”]

 

 

(I) All at once, it seemed as if Luhan was always there. Joonmyun always seemed to find him no matter what.

 

 

(I) “I’m not afraid of dying, Joonmyun. It’s alright to die, I think. But it’s not that I particularly want to either, if I really had a choice. I’ve lived a rather short life, but it was full of everything good, and everything bad, and everything that made life worth living.” And he grinned brightly, like he knew all the answers to any question ever asked.

 

And Joonmyun—what sort of life has he been living here?

 

 

(I) “I’ve been wondering, Joonmyun, but isn’t it only you who sees yourself as so different?” Luhan said this one day, as if reading his thoughts, and Joonmyun froze in a different kind of way.

“It’s alright to be different, you know? That’s what makes a particular person appealing to one and not the other; they’re different. So, why shouldn’t you be?”

“Flaws are not quite the same.” Joonmyun replied, and Luhan laughed.

“No, they’re exactly the same. That’s exactly what it means to be different.”

 

Joonmyun found that to be a very—human response.

 

 

(I) Before Joonmyun knew it, he found himself at a clinic for those like him, being examined by Dr. Do, his friend, and fellow android, and his human friend, Jongdae.

“There’s nothing wrong, Joonmyun,” his friend sighed, “but you already knew that.”

“I hoped differently.”

That made Kyungsoo blink, “Why?” he asked, dark brows furrowed.

“No reason.”

 

 

(I) Maybe—maybe someone to talk to—someone he didn’t need to care about; someone he wouldn’t have to care about. Maybe that was what Luhan needed.

And maybe Joonmyun would be that person.

 

 

(I) Today was another day, where his body seemed to freeze, him unable to move.

 

 

(I) Joonmyun finds that his bubble of happiness—because he realized that that was what he had— was never meant to last—as he had never dared to hope for.

 

 

(I) Soft smiles and stiff limbs and Joonmyun—didn’t see this coming.

 

 

(I) He fell in love.

 

 

(I) Joonmyun pursed his lips, and this seemed to amuse Luhan.

“What?” Luhan smiled, that softer one, and Joonmyun flexed a bit of stiffness out of his left hand.

“Nothing.” Of course Joonmyun would never tell how he felt, especially not to Luhan.

“Don’t lie.” Luhan said, jabbing him in his side. Joonmyun snorted. He could feel that jab, he was made to feel everything a human does, but Luhan doesn’t seem to care.

“I was just wondering—” Joonmyun sighed softly.

“Wondering what?” Luhan asked, expression serious, his eyes on Joonmyun.

“How does your face manage your laughs?” Joonmyun deadpanned, turning to look at Luhan.

He got the reaction he expected; that very same laugh.

 

 

(I) _Love exposes weaknesses_ ; Joonmyun is sure he read that somewhere before, but his memory tends to fall flat most times. It’s outdated, like most parts of him.

But it’s true. His love was exposing just how flawed he is; exposing his flawed mechanical make-up.

He sat in the stairway, trying to clench his fists, but it simply wouldn’t. They look like prosthetics, and Joonmyun knew they were, but right now it made him feel all the more— _artificial_.

 

He couldn’t continue like this. He had a job to do; people to help.

 

He buried his stiff hands in his hair.

 

How long did he have?

 

 

(I) Luhan said it was relaxing, watching Joonmyun organize Luhan’s messy hospital room.

“You’re completely unflappable. You always do things in the exact same way; it’s incredible.” He laughed brightly, his eyes not clouded over in their usual way.

Joonmyun’s fingers stiffened around the vase filled with sunflowers.

 

 

(I) Joonmyun wondered if his present time would... simply stand still, for all eternity. Love was—what was love? The thought was romantic; that love was the key to all.

And maybe it was. Maybe knowing this love, and this warmth, whether unintentionally given or not, was enough. Maybe this was the key to making existence worthwhile.

He found himself—unafraid. To die, or to cease existing; whatever it is that his kind does. He wasn’t afraid at all.

 

 

(I) Joonmyun’s love had no time to be requited. And a small, quiet part of him wondered if it might have, had he had a little more time.

 

 

(I) “What do you wish for, Joonmyun?”

“Wish for?” Joonmyun asked, used to Luhan randomness.

“Yeah, anything. If you could wish for anything in the world, what would it be?” Luhan smiled, resting his head in his hand.

“I don’t know.” Joonmyun whispered, eyes dark. _What would you wish for?_ Is what he wanted to ask Luhan, but he didn’t.

Luhan groaned, “You’re supposed to ask me now, Joonmyun.”

Of course, “What do you wish for?”

Luhan seemed to mull it over, before he grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes, “I have no idea!”

And Joonmyun laughed hard.

 

 

(I) It seemed especially quiet today. Everyone seemed to love Luhan; his infectiousness made it so.

 

Luhan died today.

 

Everyone expected it, and yet it was so—sudden. He was just gone.

 

His heart couldn’t quite take anymore, and so it didn’t.

 

 

(I) Joonmyun found himself caught in an existence of over-thinking, and freezing.

He had no idea why he wasn’t destroyed. Maybe the reason was a bit of sentimentality. Humans are emotional beings.

 

 

(I) Joonmyun realized he never really called Luhan by his name.

 

 

[End.]

 

 

(I) “Humans have flaws. Why should you be any different?” Every now and then, Luhan used repeat this question. Maybe he was good at reading Joonmyun; reading his emotions, and thoughts. Or maybe it was what he needed to tell himself. Joonmyun couldn’t tell, but it didn’t seem like Luhan was waiting for any response.

 

 

(I) Joonmyun’s left hand no longer worked, and it made his quiet decision accepting.

 

 

(I) The sun shined a bit brighter today, brighter than it has been in days, and it warmed the skin on Joonmyun’s bare arms. It warmed him down to his core. And Joonmyun found himself—at peace.

 

 

(I) “Kyungsoo.” Joonmyun smiled.

“No,” Kyungsoo glared, his fists clenched, “I’m not your friend. When you’re asking me to do what you’re asking me to do, I can’t be your friend.”

Jongdae shook his head, frustrated, and angry in his helplessness, and hurt. And Joonmyun realized that he’s been loved for much longer than he realized, and loved the same in return.

 

Odd, Joonmyun thinks, now that it’s come to this, there seems to be so much more to his life now than he ever knew.

And although it’s late, Joonmyun realizes he’s lived a rather okay life. It wasn’t extreme in its happiness, nor its grief; but it was one he regrets not treasuring before.

 

Joonmyun smiled, moving his left hand by using his right, “I don’t want to be—any less of me than I am now. A last gift.” Joonmyun smiled at Kyungsoo, watching the doctor clench and unclench his fists.

 

“It is inevitable, Kyungsoo. You know this.”

 

 

 

(I) “Thank you, Dr. Do.” Joonmyun smiled.

And then he closed his eyes.


End file.
